bez-imeni-9The first ten years of his life he was just a cat. Strong, impudent creature of a gray-brown color, with dense long hair, huddled on its sides in eternal mats. Persistent deep scratches on the face and tattered ears gave him a completely bandit look.

On the expanses of our old and neglected apartment, he, like a proud and free nokcha, lived by robbery and robbery. Outside, did not disdain and violence. He demanded respect for the rights and put his little, but pretty busy pisyun, on all duties. Being a center in the district, he mercilessly drenched all the neighboring cats, completely inadequately responding to the slightest encroachments in his direction. Sometimes it seemed that the indomitable spirit of the great karate player Masutytsya Oyama had been infused into him. It was with such a fiercely-Kyokushin pressure that he threw at all his rivals, sweeping them away, scattering even thoughts of some kind of resistance.

The name he had appeared only when her daughter grew up, and called him to unify Tim, as well as the mother-in-law bustled dyyobk, always hanging under the sofa. The cat was stern. Accepting me as an equal, he definitely put his wife and daughter below himself in the family hierarchy and treated them with condescending contempt. Small, growing up, took such an alignment as it is, but the wife, having received the steering wheel in control, tried to squeeze Kota in her arms. However dick.

Bumping into the final stage of stormy honeymoon mating on gloomily frowning, like the seventh behi, semi-wrinkles, through which the Cat disdainfully watched the master's sweaty fuss, she was embarrassed each time and interrupted on the sheet in order to remove this impudent animal. Having achieved the desired result, the Cat pulled the tail up himself.

Pride never allowed him to ask, he always either demanded or took with a fight. Carefully laid by his wife in a clean bowl, the food leaked and disappeared. Hungry and angry, he condescended to participate in a family dinner: sitting in front of the table on a free stool laid his head on the table and closed his eyes, demonstrating complete indifference to what is happening.But it was enough to be distracted only for a second - from under the table a swift hook flew out spreading out with claws released, a paw and an elusive movement snatched a sausage from the nearest plate. Same exact as in his bowl. Having deservedly received from me a heavy kick, he did not let go of the prey, he flew through the kitchen to the kitchen and the hallway, and crashing into the bathtub door as if nothing had happened and rose proudly with his tail back so that I could eat an honestly earned piece at my feet. We, in spite of everything, respected each other, but the rules also had to be respected. Law is law.

He was from the first litter of the neighbor's cat. The first litter is always said to be the strongest. Three smoky gray and one dirty brown. He was impudent from birth - while other kittens, finding a free boob, died down and became saturated, he indignantly crawled around his mother, ignoring free nipples, until he drove one of the brothers out and took his place.

Fish was his passion. Any: fried, boiled, salted, frozen, rotten. But especially alive. He was masterfully eating food. As an experienced footballer at a corner, he flew headlong at the sound of an opening refrigerator and, trying to get under his feet, in the confusion, tried to realize a standard rally.Not a single fact of the seizure of anything edible came past his deliberately indifferent gaze. Everything forgotten or left for even a minute became his legitimate prey. Therefore, meat and fish traveled around the house in a short pass, like a ball at a bazaar spider, not remaining undiscovered for a minute.

The fish almost killed him. Having stolen a cut tail of a hefty one kilogram for three chebaks one night at the neighbors through the open window, he pinned him home, of course, and tried to eat on the carpet in the living room. The banquet ended with one of the bones, stuck in his throat, pierced his esophagus and trachea. I found it at about six in the morning in a clogged area. Foam was coming from his mouth, and he himself looked like a fish ball. Part of the exhaled air through the hole came under the skin, and the cat inflated literally before our eyes. It was Saturday morning. The veterinarian worked on this day with 12. It was necessary to urgently take action.

The role of the savior was assigned to the neighbor - a 75-year-old Jewish woman, a retired gynecologist. Awakened by neither dawn nor light, grandmother-dandelion with blue hair grumbled a little, but could not refuse. Carefully, according to Spasokukotsky-Kochergin, having washed out the yellow bony little hands,and wearing an extinct rubber glove of domestic gynecology, the confident step of the winner entered the kitchen.

-Kotik, open mouth.

In her hand in the rays of the rising sun shone with a polished stainless steel something resembling the form of a duck beak at the same time, a large clothespin and a male beats.

Congenital sharpness suggested to me that this device can be safely called 3.14 radioscope. My suspicions were indirectly confirmed by my wife, who oyknula, flushed and shyly hid in the bath. Surprised by such a retreat, Kot reasonably decided that now this device, which saw the pussy more than the Internet explorer, would pop into his mouth, and moved on to active defense, inflicting several deep scratches on his potential savior. The fight ended with a technical knockout and a clear advantage of one of the parties. While the granny, wanting to Kotu of various long and painful deaths, healed battle wounds, I found a phone of a girl - a veterinarian through a friend. Agreed on nine.

The veterinarian in our city is a large brick hangar of pre-revolutionary construction with a concrete floor.A machine for sadomasochistic games with cattle is installed in the middle of the room. Behind the flimsy curtain is a metal table. This is the operating room. Another rescuer is a plump young frightened girl, also from my school, but about five years younger.

- My name is Lena, and you will help me - she says - aren't you afraid of the blood?
- I'm afraid of course, but what to do ...

By this time, the Cat filled with itself the entire sports bag into which it was planted for transportation and had to be cut. Vkolov some kind of crap to his inner thigh, Lena ran off to prepare the "operating room".

- He is now chopped off, and bring.

The cat was not cut off. Five minutes later the injection was repeated. Then another. Finally, in half an hour, when Lena, according to her, drove a dose for a calf, the sufferer went to the kingdom of Morpheus.

I began to feel sick as soon as she began to tie the cat's paws to the table. I hate medical odors. Spreading the cat's belly up, she made me hold his head, and she herself thrust a pair of tweezers deep into her mouth and pulled out a hefty jagged bone knife.

- This is not enough. You need to blow it off and be sure to sew up the trachea.I'll cut it, and you'll hold your neck. You do not have to look.

It's easy to say keep your neck - The cat by that time had become like an inflated rubber glove, and the notion of a neck was just as relative to it as Lena's waist. Pfiiiiit - gently came from the cat at the moment when she made the first incision. I felt a thin blow of air blowing from the bottom of my face, for some reason smelling of fresh fish. At the same moment, I added a thick aroma of yesterday's borscht and morning cutlets, fanning them around the operating table.

-All? As if nothing had happened asked Lena - and now blow.

And we began to drive the air to the slit at the throat with four hands, as if we were blowing the mattress on the beach. After the Cat looked like a blown ball (or gondon - someone like it), the most interesting thing began - OPERATION! According to my feelings, when on pre-diploma practice cut cats - Lena had a period, well, or there abortion. She missed this topic. In general, the search for a trachea turned into a clitoris search for the crew of a submarine. If it had not been for my ingenuity, I'd still be looking. Soap, I say, anoint - where the bubbles will be, there's a hole. And blevanul again.But already in the tray with the tools for cultural. And then he suddenly remembered how Bulgakov read about the tracheotomy. Cut it, speak deeper.

I found ...

The cat at that moment I don’t know where I started to come around and rush on the operating table, bit Lena, managed to free the hind legs and blew all the tools on the floor. Then he torn my hands and tried to get up. Unbending Russian woman, pushing me away, pinned her breast against the table of the raging and stabbed him in another foolishness. Or holy water, I do not remember, because I felt bad ...

That night, the Cat received from his wife drove Church - in honor of the ever-memorable cat from the pet cemetery King. At three o'clock in the morning, rushing headlong and feet to the toilet, the wife was groping, swaying, on her stiff legs, a spherical creature, making gurgling sounds, screaming. Started otkhodnyak and cat struck on a havchik. Having devoured, he climbed on our bed and began to lick my hands. For the first time in modern history. I suspect that this was a manifestation of gratitude. His unblinking eyes were wide open at the same time, and stuck hairs and pieces of rubbish were visible.“Every person sows what he can and reaps the fruits (s)”

The cat then gradually ceased to inflate, but it did not learn to meow. And the ill-fated that fishtail he found the next day and ate, for him it was a matter of principle. For the path of a warrior is the way of death.

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